


Broken Bonds Renewed

by orphan_account



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Homophobia, Incest, Mutual Pining, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-06-25 19:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19751857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I… need to say something important—really important—to mom and dad at dinner later. I was hoping you could be… I dunno, my knight in shining armor?"You smile at her, and the brilliant smile she returns awakens something jittery in your stomach as well. You decide to pay it no further mind. "Of course. I'll be there."





	1. Elsa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One big warning beforehand: please read the tags, and I'd like to point out that this actually gets into some pretty serious real-life stuff, especially when it comes to homophobia and abusive parents. The ending will be okay—I absolutely cannot stand bad endings—but please keep it in mind while reading this chapter.

Something important is on Anna's mind, you can tell. As much as your university application letters are distracting you, she's never been hard to read. She's always very… physically affectionate, but it takes on different forms depending on whether she's excited, or sad, or nervous. She's sitting against you on the side and trying to keep herself distracted with some phone game, it looks like, but the nervous jitters of her leg say it all, as does the fact that she keeps shooting you a look that's almost scared when she thinks you aren't looking. And you're the big sister, so of course you are.

She is definitely nervous.

"Spit it out, sis. Your jitters are making it hard to concentrate."

"Oh." Her leg stills, but it feels forced. You can tell that Anna's blushing, and it must be that she's trying to decide whether to tell you or not. Maybe she's having trouble at school again and needs your help? Still, that doesn't seem like all that important a reason to feel awkward, she must know by now that you'll almost always drop what you're doing to help her out.

You suppose she'll tell you when she's ready. And after another moment, it sounds like she is.

"I… need to say something important—really important—to mom and dad at dinner later. I was hoping you could be… I dunno, my knight in shining armor?"

That image appeals to you more than perhaps it should. But now you can't help but be curious. "Are you having trouble at school again?"

Anna shrugs uncomfortably. "I'd really rather only have to talk about it once, if that's okay? I'm pretty stressed as it is." She must've noticed your disappointment, even if you tried your hardest not to show it, because she continues, "It's not that I'm not comfortable with you! You're the bestest, most comfortable, beautifulest, smartest sister ever. But that's why I'm hoping you'll be there for me at dinner?"

You smile at her, and the brilliant smile she returns awakens something jittery in your stomach as well. You decide to pay it no further mind. "Of course. I'll be there."

* * *

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that.

You were so certain it would be something school-related; it usually is. Anna's a smart girl—you'd argue she's smarter than you, even—but she's never been good at the more organized approach required by formal schooling, and often lands into trouble for that reason. She does well enough to make it through most classes by pure talent, but the teachers can be a bit inflexible about what they perceive as "lack of trying." Whenever she's uncomfortable about something she has to talk to mom and dad about, it's usually because of some teacher or another deciding to take the way her head works personally again.

Or perhaps she needed some financial support to keep her mechanical pursuits going. You've always supported this interest of hers. Something about Anna covered in grease after tinkering with engines is just very… ahem. It's always been a little hard to get either of your parents to go along with any of this—you don't agree, but apparently their idea of a girl's 'role' doesn't involve any kind of serious physical labor, and in fact even your goal of getting a degree in literature has met some resistance in the past.

Anna's always put whatever little money she makes aside to support her goals, and you couldn't be more proud of her ability to make it through a school that doesn't appreciate the way she works while at the same time making money from jobs here and there to fuel her passion. Quite frankly, you've tipped the scales more than a few times when your parents claimed it would be a waste of money to support this 'inappropriate waste of time'. Suggesting that you could help Anna out with what little extra money you have—even if, you'd melodramatically proclaim, it would make it harder to make ends meet in university—usually did a good job convincing your parents to support Anna's dreams too.

But no, instead it's something you've never even _thought_ about.

The words repeat themselves in your head over and over again: "Mom, dad, I think I may be a lesbian?"

She thinks? Lesbian? As in, liking girls? In _that_ way? Is that even…—you're not sure you're comfortable with letting yourself finish that sentence, considering the sort of person you might like to… but no, you don't want to think about this.

It takes you a little while to get yourself back together, and in that time you realize that the situation has heated up dramatically. Your parents are practically screaming at Anna how inappropriate such thoughts are, and how much shame she could bring on their family, and what will the community think, and…

Your head is spinning. This is too much, and you don't know how to process what's going on. Of _course_ it's possible for girls to like girls that way, but you never even thought… But that could mean that your feelings towards Anna…

Vaguely, a part of you notices that the atmosphere isn't getting any better. Mom's now calling Anna 'an abomination', and you finally snap back into reality to hear dad send Anna to her room without dinner, telling her not to come back until she's 'cleansed her soul'. Anna is in tears, and the last thing you see before she slams the hallway door behind her is the look of someone absolutely devastated, the look of someone who was hoping that at least _one_ person would support her through all this and didn't even get _that_.

In hindsight, you realize that this is the point in your life where everything went to hell.

* * *

It's been a week since Anna disappeared, and your head's a mess. Your _everything's_ a mess. You wish you'd actually worked up the courage to _talk_ to her in the month after that absolutely screwed up dinner. You know she was avoiding you, but who could blame her, honestly. For all she knows you were feeling the same way your parents do, and even if it hurts to think that she may think that _anything_ could possibly make you dislike her, you can't blame her after the way mom and dad treated her—and have always treated her, come to think of it.

Little did she know that the reason you were avoiding her had nothing to do with any of that, and everything to do with your own confusing feelings. It's your own stupid fault for having those weird feelings in the first place, and for not being able to conceal them to be _there_ for her when she needed you the most. Quite frankly, you don't feel you deserve an amazing sister like Anna in the first place, and it shows in how you've barely been able to get out of bed anymore, skipping classes and walking around without your usual makeup. You can almost imagine Anna's laugh if she were to see you like this. No doubt she'd make a joke about how she's the bigger sister you're trying to imitate now.

You just assumed there would be time. You just assumed everything would go back to normal, whatever that means anymore, at some point. That you'd get to tell her how much you support her, how you don't care whether she likes boys or girls or nothing at all, and how much you'll always love her.

You assumed that your parents wouldn't double down and immediately steal your phone the night after, replace it with some old Nokia with a different number, and essentially give you no way of ever talking to her again.

The week after has been a blur. At some point, you remember dad sitting down with you, trying to get you to stop crying and understand that they just didn't want Anna's misguided views to rub off on you. If you'd been braver, or if you'd been more impulsive like Anna, maybe you would've told them that you wouldn't have minded, that she can rub off on you whatever and however she wants. But you're not. You're terrified of losing what little stability you have, and you're terrified of losing Anna forever.

You wrap your snow white blankets around you, and desperately hope that Anna is doing better than you are right now.

* * *

It's been six years, and somehow you've managed to graduate from university with a master's degree in German literature. You're doing… better, these days. Your own small apartment—the ice palace, the few acquaintances you have call it—and a decent job lined up, your life is healthier than it's been in years.

The relationship between you and mom and dad is still strained, to say the least. There's little to talk about that doesn't eventually result in either you storming out while barely holding back tears, or your dad shouting at you and telling you to get Anna— _that girl_ , they call her now—out of your head.

Still, they're holding the graduation party back home, and things could be worse. A number of people you haven't seen in years are there, too! There's Olaf and Marshmallow, two kids now in their late teens you remember from when they were still very little. Olaf, the awkward one, was always particularly close to… no, not the time.

There's Aurora and Snow, old friends of yours, even though you've drifted apart after high school. You look at the ground self-consciously, realizing this is almost entirely your own fault for shutting everyone out, but they seem to take things in stride and still treat you the same way they would before. You appreciate that they try, at least. Maybe some day you can actually think of them as friends again.

And then there's… well, friends from the 'community', you suppose. You remember many of their names, but none of them are people you've ever been particularly close to. Most of them seem proud of what you've achieved, even if you're certain some of those very same people judge you behind your back for not being married yet. Even now you know there's whispers going around about whether you've fallen to the same 'corruption' as your sister, seeing as at the age of twenty-four you've not bothered with a single relationship.

Everything is going fine, until Olaf speaks up, tugging at the sleeve of your dress.

"This is your big day, right? Will I finally see Anna again? I'm so excited to see her again after all these years!"

And you just can't take it. You don't know how to deal with this right now. Part of you realizes that he doesn't mean anything by it, that he's just the same awkward boy he's always been. Someone who doesn't know how to read the room, who doesn't know how seriously messed up things are in your family.

All you know is that you need to be alone right now, and once again you storm out of the house with tears running down your cheeks, rumors about your mental stability be damned.

* * *

In a way, the better you get, the worse it feels when it all hits you again. You only barely avoided getting fired from your new job on the first day, when the memories of that graduation party made it feel impossible to get out of bed on time. You should probably be in therapy, but aren't even sure what you'd hope to get out of it: confirmation that your parents are abusive? That you fucked everything up with Anna and should've been there for her? That you just need to move on now? You're already doing everything you can.

And then there was that religious 'therapist' your parents sent you to so he could just repeat what your parents have been saying about Anna for years now, which rather put you off the whole experience.

At least your parents will be on vacation in the south of France for a month, so there's no need to pretend _that_ particular relationship isn't a complete and utter mess for a while. No need to show up and pretend everything's fine when the house's empty.

An empty house not too far from here… and you have a spare key.

You know this is a bad idea.

You're no therapist, but you know that trying to find some of Anna's old things, maybe some of her old plushies, even some of her old drawings, if your parents haven't thrown them all away, is getting into _dangerously_ unhealthy territory. You're certain a therapist, if you had one, would strongly advise against what you're oh so tempted to do.

And you find that you, as Anna would sometimes say when your parents weren't around, "simply don't give a fuck."

Minutes later, you're in a cab on the way to your parents home. A furtive sort of thrill goes through you, and you barely even feel the need to cry when you remember Anna telling you you should really learn to drive yourself some day. When you arrive and give the driver a tip larger than she's probably ever seen before, she doesn't even seem too bothered by your brilliant smile you hope is only a _little_ unhinged.

Seconds later you're on the threshold with the key on your hand. The moment of truth. You know that if you let yourself in, there'll be no turning back—you're going to turn this place upside down if you need to trying to find out whatever you can about your sister.

The lock turns and you release the breath you didn't realize you were holding as the door opens. You look around furtively, even though everyone knows you're your parents daughter and are _clearly_ just around to water the plants, or pick up some personal item you've left at home, or… something.

Once inside you pointedly ignore any of the public areas. You've been here plenty of times, and if there's still a piece of Anna left there you would've found it before. There's only two areas that matter: Anna's old room, and your parents' bedroom.

Anna's room is cold and unfriendly, and you almost lose it again when the only thing that's recognizable is the red wallpaper, the bed, and the old desk where you used to help her with her homework. Everything else has been cleared out. Did your parents sell Anna's old toys and anything she didn't take with her? Maybe they just threw it out? You honestly don't know.

A part of you briefly considers tearing up the carpet and seeing if there's any hidden areas Anna left anything important in, but you quickly shake that thought. Anna's not the kind of girl to scheme and plot that sort of thing.

If you're still angry at your parents later, you figure you can always tear up the place then. And you'd rather start with a room Anna _didn't_ sleep in.

Your parents' bedroom it is, then. Are you even hoping to find anything? Maybe it'd be better if everything's been disposed of, and finally try to get over the sister you'll never know again. Still, you don't stop rummaging through the desks and drawers, throwing spare clothes around the room, even going so far as to look under their bed.

You've lost it. You know this. There is absolutely, positively, no way this is healthy. But you can't stop looking, and finally, when it seems like there's nothing left to search, you stumble on a small locked drawer on top of the wardrobe.

It's a fragile plastic box, and quite frankly you've long since lost the patience to see if there's a key to be found anywhere—you suspect it's the sort of thing your parents would keep on them anyway. A pair of scissors jabs right through it, and with a bit of effort you create a big enough hole to spill the contents on the carpeted floor.

Shredded letters. _Dozens_ of them. From what little you can piece together, most of them addressed to you rather than your parents. And, in the middle of the pile, is a phone with a cracked screen.

It's your old phone.

Miraculously, it still turns on after you plug it into the wall. You don't know if the plan expired years ago, but the moment the operating system finished booting, you see that there's multiple messages and voicemails waiting for you.

_Dozens_ of messages. Every single one of them from Anna. No doubt the voicemails are no different.

You don't remember the exact date, but you have no doubt that the first message you see was sent almost immediately after she left.

_Hey... I hope I didn't surprise you too much with my confession, and I'm sorry I can't live with mom and dad anymore, but I just hope I can have my big sister in my life at least. Text me soon? <3_

Tears hit the carpet as you start crying again. You know you should've done more. You should've tried harder to figure out how to get in touch with her. Against your better judgment, you scroll up through a few messages, getting to the more recent ones from multiple months later.

_I'm really scared that you hate me too. I just want you back in my life again. I'm managing, but I miss you so much. I know I can't come to this house anymore, but I almost wish I could just so I could see you again._

You know you should stop. That you're only hurting yourself by reading these. But you can't stop yourself. You scroll up some more, getting to the most recent messages.

_I guess... I was expecting better from you. But I see now that you're just like mom and dad. It hurts. It hurts so much, but I don't think I ever want to see you again. Goodbye, Els._

It's the final straw. You curl up on the carpet. You don't care that the walls are thin and there's a real risk that one of the neighbors may hear you cry if you don't keep it together. All you want is to have your sister back, to apologize for everything you've fucked up, to tell her how much you care about her and how nothing can ever change that, and how much you love her.

One of the shredded postcards has a relatively legible return address on it, and, hoping against hope, you decide to pocket it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Me finishing this chapter right now.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7erl9k01C2M)  
>    
> Second (and final) chapter hopefully coming soon. Don't worry, it gets better! :) Comments are appreciated.


	2. Anna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to finish this! Most of the draft had been sitting on my todo pile for a while now, but it’s only recently that I’ve had the motivation to finish it. At any rate, here’s the second part from Anna’s perspective, I hope it’s an enjoyable read. :)
> 
> Oh, don’t forget the Important Note on the bottom of this chapter if you’re interested in this story!

“Get. Back. In. There,” you groan out at a particularly awkward lopsided bolt that's _supposed_ to keep this engine block mounted to the frame. It's an expensive car, and the client you're working for looks like money. Some guy named Hans? You don't remember, but he definitely looked like the sort of kid with far too large a trust fund and enough free time to step on ants when he feels like it, so you can't afford to screw this up.

Unfortunately, today is really turning out to be one of _those_ days.

You try to remind yourself of how far you've come, to keep that bright smile everyone appreciates so much on your face, to avoid thinking of _her_. Who would've thought that you'd manage your own garage now when not too long ago you were crashing on Kristoff's couch just to keep a roof over your head? That you'd have something close to a social life again after that mess with your family, made new friends in a new place, and even managed to date a few girls? Really, it's important to remind yourself that you have lots of reason to be proud of yourself.

Again, no thanks to _her_.

You can't help but let another grumble out, and throw the wrench and your dirty work gloves on a nearby chair. There's no point in playing the blame game, and you honestly don't really want to anyway. Wiping the sweat of your brow, you resign yourself to the fact that this car's just gonna have to wait until tomorrow. It doesn't feel like you can concentrate on this job, and the last thing you want is to have an angry customer with a bricked car.

Thankfully, it's almost closing time.

You take one look at the surrounding mess, and realize cleanup, too, will have to wait for another day. Briefly, you consider asking Megara to take care of it, but you know you'd never be comfortable making someone else clean up your mess, even if she technically works for you. She's far more useful when she’s dealing with stubborn clients, anyway.

“Hey Ann!”

Speak of the devil. As much as you like her, you've never exactly bounced with excitement at the idea of discussing your fucked up family situation with her. She’s definitely one of those new friends in your life, but… it’s hard to open up, still. Sometimes you worry that she suspects something's up on those days when you just can't help but grumble about them under your breath all day, but if she does she's nice enough not to point it out. You appreciate that in a friend.

Putting your usual winning smile back on and trying to get that sparkle back in your eyes, you hope it's convincing enough when she turns the corner.

Megara eyes you over, noticing that you've already put away your gloves and are in the process of taking off a dirty overall. As she looks you in the eyes, there's a flicker of recognition, and you worry for a brief moment that she can see the long-buried pain in them, but then she smiles brightly and the feeling passes.

“You think you can help out one more client? Might be able to take on the job for tomorrow, if you've got the energy for it.”

There's a playful smirk on her lips that you can't quite place, and you hope your exhaustion's obvious enough to tell her off.

“Don't you usually take care of new clients, especially this late? I'm kinda exhausted, Meg, please tell me they're not fancy or anything…”

She laughs. “Nope. But she's a hot blonde. Definitely your type. Aren't you happy I save the damsels in distress for you?”

Ah, that explains the smirk, then.

And you appreciate the thought, of course. It's not her fault that hot blondes are the last thing you want to be thinking of right now. All you need is to take a hot bath, forget all about your _past_ life, and hopefully get a certain blonde out of your head. Maybe get all that frustration and tension out of your system again.

It’s already bad enough that she still pops up in your head at the most inopportune moments.

Hell, maybe this is exactly what you need. A distraction. Something to feel normal for a while. Something to blur the thoughts around blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin, replace them with someone else until you stop thinking about her that way.

Maybe the fifth time is the charm.

Your ambivalence must've shown on your face, because Megara's looking worried when you get your head back to reality.

“I can deal with her if you want? No offense, but you're not looking too hot right now.”

You shake your head. “Nah. You’re right, I'll take care of it.” You try a small smile, and you're glad that it doesn't feel _too_ forced. “You go home and relax, I'll see you again tomorrow!”

Really, it's just one more client. How bad can it be?

* * *

The answer, it turns out, is _pretty damn bad_.

You may not have seen her for six years, but no one could make your heart flutter like that.

She seems to be staring into the distance and hasn't noticed you yet, and looks distinctly uncomfortable wearing a thin blue dress in the cold, greasy garage, even if her expression is as neutral and controlled as ever. Other than a taxi driving off, you don't even see a new car she could've possibly brought here.

She's also _exactly_ as beautiful as you remember.

That last thought fills you with anger all of a sudden. You don't want to deal with any of this right now. Not ever. You've finally gotten your life together somewhat, and now your messed up family’s here to screw everything up again?

Before you know it, you’ve marched up to her and stepped into Elsa's personal space, startling her when you jab your finger at her.

“Anna! H-Hi.”

It’s like she can't even stand to look at you, staring down resolutely the moment her eyes meet yours.

“‘Hi’ my ass. This isn't a coincidence, is it? You _knew_ you'd find me here!”

“Anna… I…”

You don’t let her continue, and the fact that she’s just staring at the floor just manages to piss you off even more. “It's been six years. Six fucking years, Els! I’m _twenty-two_ now. And now you expect to just waltz back into my life? What, convinced yourself I don’t like girls anymore?”

“No! That's not…”

Then she looks up at you, and before you can continue the tirade you've been holding in for _years_ , all the wind is taken out of your sails when you see her face.

She’s _crying_.

With bloodshot eyes and through tears, Elsa somehow manages to stutter, “I’m so, so sorry! Please. Please don’t leave me again.” Her hands reach for you but she seems to think better of it at the last moment and wraps them tightly around herself.

A bolt of self-hatred hits you deep at the realization that _you’re_ the cause of her tears, justified though your anger may be.

You want to keep going. To keep telling her how all of this is her fault, and how she can’t manipulate you now and make you feel like _you’re_ in the wrong for taking control of your life. But you can’t, because it’s _Elsa_. And she’s _crying._

If there’s one thing you've wanted, it’s to never make Elsa—your strong, capable, always-keeping-it-together sister—cry.

Elsa keeps her arms around herself as if to stop herself from completely losing it. Even though it’s been years and it’s possible you don’t entirely remember, you don’t think you’ve ever seen her this upset before. Her voice strained, she continues, “If… if you want to hate me afterwards, that’s… okay. If you never want to see me again, I…I’ll live. Please just… listen. Please?”

You take a deep breath. Your thoughts are a scattered mess. You’ve been angry for so long, so upset that she never even bothered to call or text you again, steeled yourself against the possibility of ever seeing her again, and now… two blue eyes red from crying is all it takes to make you forget about all that?

You don’t want to open yourself up to that kind of hurt again.

But you’ve never been good at holding onto anger, and this is Elsa, and even after all these years she’s the person you care about more than anyone. More than you’d ever be comfortable admitting.

A few tense seconds pass, and you make up your mind.

“Okay. I can… I’ll listen. I don’t want to promise anything. This is all too sudden. But I’ll listen.”

You hope that if this goes even more wrong somehow, you’ll still have the strength to push her away again.

* * *

You're still not entirely sure this is real.

Once it became clear that you were _definitely_ not going to get any more work done after all that, you somehow invited Elsa back to your apartment. And since _obviously_ she doesn’t have a working car, she’s now sitting next to you while you try your hardest to pay attention to the road.

Thankfully, the drive back to your apartment is a quiet one.

It’s not the most comfortable silence, but it lets you put in the effort to get the crying back under control. It took Elsa hesitantly reaching out with her handkerchief to wipe away some of your tears for you to realize you’d started crying yourself, and though you probably made her feel worse by flinching away, the closeness is something you can’t quite deal with just yet.

Unfortunately, the quiet also means that you’re again becoming _painfully_ aware of your weird feelings towards Elsa, and what you were thinking about doing before she unceremoniously showed up at your garage. There’s these uncomfortable swirly feelings in your stomach, and this is something you don’t want to think about—not in general, but _especially_ while you’re not even sure you want to have Elsa in your life again at all.

It’s some small comfort that Elsa clearly feels just as awkward as you do, and almost looks like she’s debating whether she’s better off taking her chances throwing the car door open and rolling down the highway. Every so often, it looks like she’s about to speak up, but you’re not surprised she can’t seem to find the words right now. You can’t either.

It’s a short drive that never seems to end, but you finally make it back to your apartment. A relieved sigh escapes you when you unlock the door, before remembering that you still haven’t actually _talked_ to Elsa and you tense back up again.

As proud as you are of your confidence in being yourself in your own apartment, in hindsight you _really_ wish you didn’t have quite so many rainbow-patterned posters all over the walls. There’s a small blush on Elsa’s cheeks as she takes in your _incredibly gay_ apartment, and you giggle slightly. Thankfully, Elsa’s always been the tactful one.

“Your apartment looks… nice, actually. It’s very warm. Very you.”

Swooning too hard is a _terrible_ idea right now, but you still wish you could see that shy smile on her face every day.

“Right, so… this is it. Bathroom’s over there,” you point down the hallway, “and the, um, bedroom is this other room. So… I guess feel free to sit down in the living room while I make some tea?” You sigh. “I… have no idea what I’m doing,” you admit before quickly retreating to your small kitchen.

At least you remembered to fill up the electric kettle and hit the right button, if only so you can keep yourself from panicking just a little longer.

“God, what am I even doing?” you whisper to yourself, holding your head in your hands. You don’t want to force the issue, but now that Elsa’s actually here you’re not sure you want to hear whatever explanation she can come up with. You’re not sure you can risk _knowing_ that she’s just as bad as your parents, especially when part of you is busy imagining her pushing you against the living room wall and…

Soft pale arms hesitantly wrap around you from behind. A squeak escapes you—you didn’t even hear her coming.

“I’m sorry! You seemed lost in thought and… Is… is this okay?”

 _More than okay,_ is what you want to say, or possibly _I want you to kiss me so much right now,_ but the words don’t come out the way you want them to. You can’t trust her not to make things worse. “It’s fine,” is all you manage to get out.

“I wanted so much to talk to you, you know.”

You scoff. It’s not what you want to do, but you’re feeling defensive and you don’t want to show how much you wish you could believe her. You basically force out a response as you avert your eyes. You can't keep the hurt out of your voice. “Then why didn’t you?”

Finally, the question that’s been on your mind for _years_ is out in the open. And once it’s out, you can’t keep the rest of the accusations from coming out. Before you know it, you’ve turned around and find yourself staring her down.

“If you really cared so much, then why’d you ignore my existence for so many years? If you wanted me around, why ignore all the texts and voicemails?” Your hands ball into fists as you try to stop from crying again, “If you… if you _loved_ me, how could you let mom and dad just cut me out of everyone’s lives? Out of _your_ life?”

The words cut deep, and it shows. It makes you feel like a heel, but the words _need_ to be said. You can’t just let her back into your life and pretend nothing’s different, especially given… everything. Even if it hurts her. Even if it means you’ll have to live without her again.

The silence stretches on as Elsa seems to consider her words. Finally, she leads you back to the couch and sits down next to you, leaving a respectable distance between your bodies.

“I _wanted_ to. I was so upset, but the next day, mom took my phone and gave me a replacement. I panicked, and by the time I knew what to say it was too late…” There’s a sad smile on her face. “I felt so stupid for _weeks_ that I never bothered to learn your number. I never thought it’d be necessary.”

Of course. Your parents. You don’t want to think about them for longer than you have to, but in hindsight… yeah, that seems exactly like the sort of thing they would do. Still…

“But… my letters?”

“I never saw any of them until yesterday. It… in hindsight I feel so stupid, but I thought, _fuck_ , Anna, I thought you didn’t want to talk to _me_ because I was such a bad sister! I never thought our parents would be intercepting my mail!”

Could it really be that all this time, Elsa felt just as abandoned as you had? Probably not _as_ abandoned, given your weird feelings, but still…

“All this time. I just thought… I thought you didn’t want me around anymore… I thought you _hated_ me for being gay.”

“God, Anna, I _missed you so much,”_ she replies and wraps her arms around you so tightly that your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart skips a beat when her lips inadvertently graze over your ear. She whispers, “Especially not over something as… inconsequential as you being, you know…”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but snort. “Gay. Lesbian. You can say it out loud, Els.”

She giggles. “Yes, well, I haven’t exactly… you know, positive experience.”

You pull her closer against you. It makes some feelings bubble back up that aren’t entirely sisterly, but you try your hardest to ignore them.“I missed you too. _So much._ But if mom and dad tried so hard to stop you from talking to me, how did you find me?”

She grins against your ear. “Oh, I had a big fucking emotional breakdown, broke into our parents’ house while they were on vacation, and rummaged through their stuff trying to find anything, um, I could take with me to remind me of you.”

You blink, and you’re actually _impressed_. Not to mention a little flattered that she'd go that far just to find some old keepsake. “Hang on, so you actually _broke into our parents’ home?_ Who are you and what have you done with the real Elsa?”

She blushes. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it worked out, didn’t it?” She looks down, suddenly much more shy, “I mean… I hope so. I understand if you’re still upset with me, of course.”

Before she has the opportunity to get too insecure again, you pull yourself close against her again, but you end up overdoing it and awkwardly send the both of you tumbling backwards onto the couch. It doesn’t quite get rid of the awkwardness, but the giddy laughs from both of you as you almost fall onto the floor does wonders for breaking the tension.

You could never stay mad at her for long, after all.

* * *

“You swear so easily now. It’s weird, coming from you, but I kinda like it?”

It’s far past midnight, but there’s just _so much_ to talk about with Elsa. You’ve missed so many years of each other’s lives, after all.

Not that you’re still talking about _that_. After getting the awkwardness around being gay out of the way, and summarizing what you’ve both been up to the past few years—it makes you happy that Elsa seems genuinely _excited_ about how well the garage is working out for you—the conversation easily moved to far lighter subjects.

You’ve also gotten closer and closer on the couch, to the point that you might as well be permanently snuggling into each other. Even by the standards you were used to before everything imploded, this would’ve been a bit much, but you write it off since you’ve simply not seen each other for far too long.

Still, you keep a close eye on Elsa, just in case it’s starting to look like you’re making her uncomfortable. Thankfully, all you notice is a slight blush that could just be your imagination.

“It’s a recent development. Maybe I’m overcompensating, after finding out what our parents kept from us, but for now I guess you can, um, enjoy it?” She strokes your cheek, and she gives you a look so full of love that you almost melt, and can’t help a pleased whimper from escaping.

Her cheeks redden, more obviously this time, and more to distract from the sound you just made than anything, you ask, “Hey, there’s one thing I still want to know. Why didn’t you feel you could talk to me before I left? I don’t… I don’t want to say that’s why I left, but that’s a big part of why I worried you didn’t like me anymore.”

Surprisingly, her cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red in response, and you’re not sure what could be so embarrassing about this, so you stumble on, “I mean, I guess it was the lesbian thing being new to you and you didn’t know what to do? But like, it didn’t need to make a difference, right?”

Elsa averts her eyes, and you’re worried you’ve said the wrong thing, but then you hear her mumble, “Because… I’m a woman. And I was selfish—I _am_ selfish—and was thinking about how it would affect… us.”

“Because you’re a woman?” You smile at her. “Straight brothers and sisters can be around each other too, you big silly,” and your breathing speeds up as you hope to god it doesn’t sound like you’re overcompensating, “what, you thought I would make a move on you?”

It worries you that maybe she _does_ think that, because now she’s looking down at the floor and mumbling something under her breath.

“Um, didn't quite catch that, sis?”

After what seems like an eternity, Elsa finally looks back up at you, steel in her eyes. And whatever she’s about to say, you feel deep inside that it’s going to change _everything_.

“Anna…”

And the way she whispers your name, so full of shame and full of desire at the same time, tells you all you need to know about how she feels. It’s exactly how you sound the few times her name’s left your lips these past few years, a few times by accident in the arms of another woman. It’s the same fear of being rejected, of being seen as a freak for not only being a lesbian, but caring in that way for your own _sister_ , and that same knowledge that there’s not going to be anyone else you’ll ever feel that close to.

“I was afraid I’d make a move on _you_.”

Even if you could feel it coming, the confession still leaves you speechless, and you can feel your face reddening to match hers, and a strong fluttering in your stomach at the realization. _She wants you too._

Maybe later, there will be time to analyze what all this means. How to navigate these feelings. Whether you want to navigate these feelings at all.

But for now, you lean forward as her fingers tangle in your hair, your lips meet hers, and nothing more needs to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s it for the main story. I’m pretty happy with how this second-person perspective experiment turned out, even if I could still improve a lot, I’m sure (then again, I suppose this goes for almost everyone all the time).
> 
> Comments are, as always, loved and appreciated. :)
> 
> One last thing! I really anticipated writing some smut for this, and while it would've felt too forced in this chapter, I would quite like to write a third bonus chapter soon for basically that reason, as well as giving me an excuse for a bit of a “where are they now” sort of chapter. So if you’re interested in more of this, keep an eye out! :)


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